Dear Gov. Sanford:
You know that commandment about not taking the Lord's name in vain? I am assuming you know it. Hell I know it and I'm not a Christian. But I think you maybe might be misinterpreting it. You see, I don't think that god really cares about whether you use his name as a curse word, I think (if he/she exists at all) that the point is not to go around claiming that it's god's will for you to do something you want to do, like start a war or stay in a political office.
I think if I was god, I'd be peeved at your comparing your choice between staying with your devoted wife or running away with your soul mate as a Kind David type situation. David was acting as a judicious arbiter, you were acting like a selfish asshat, bound to cause pain to both women and your children because you couldn't keep it in your pants. David didn't cause the situation where 2 women needed his decision, you did.
Perhaps you might wanna re-read that part of the bible. You might also want to read what Jesus taught about fidelity. Now mind you, I'm a godless agnostic who thinks monogamy isn't for everyone, but I also don't endanger the welfare of an entire state or enforce rules I can't or won't follow onto others.
I'm just saying........
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
When does life begin is a specious argument
or an argument full of truthiness, to steal from Colbert.
But it's a pretty frame that forced pregnancy blowhards have been using for eons to justify controlling women's bodies. On the surface it SOUNDS good, like they are caring and really all about life and shit. But all you need is a teaspoon sized shovel to dig out their real aim- to punish the dirty whores for having sex by giving them mountains of unwanted bayyyyyyyyyyyyyyybieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees.
If they are all about preserving life, are they also anti-death penalty? (Sometimes, but not often)
Are they pacifists? Would they refuse to support any war? Or just the wars they don't like?
If they are all about preserving life, what about the life of the woman?
And if you bring up the "people are not life support machines" argument, they tell you that women choose to become life support machines when they have sex. But if that's true, what about fathers? Should both parents be legally required to donate blood or organs or tissues to their offspring? Should fathers who don't pay child support be charged with child abuse (thats 70% of all non-custodial parents, btw). Should men who smoke pot before sex be held liable if their sperm creates a disabled child? What if the man is old and his child ends up with schizophrenia? He knew he was an old dude when he was getting laid and that the chances of producing a mentally ill child were increased.
This is where the forced-birthers fall apart. Men aren't responsible for the gestation of children, ergo they cannot be used as life support machines. Anything they do with children is a CHOICE, even choosing not to pay child support won't hurt them much in the long run.
The thing is, if they really did want more babies to be born there are a gazillion programs that help do that. Universal healthcare and daycare are a start. Paid parental leave, flexible work schedules, better overall collection of child support or even the socialist idea proposed by Richard Nixon of mandatory minimum incomes so that financial devastation is no longer a side effect of an unplanned pregnancy would help. Eliminating the mommy tax (the giant wage gap between moms and EVERYBODY ELSE that works) would make it better too.
But those aren't programs that punish women for having sex (and generally they require some relinquishment of $ from dudes in the form of lower wages, higher taxes or child support payments). And these are people who see babies as punishment, god's great big scarlet letter for being a dirty whore. And without that, how would good men ever know which women to marry and which women to run off to Argentina with? And if a woman doesn't feel bad about having the dirty sex, then how will she ever lower herself enough to continue having the dirty sex with forced-birthers? (I actually knew a 48 year old grandmother who felt so bad about having premarital sex that she married the 20 year younger copy shop dude she was dating rather than continue to enjoy herself. Guess how long that marriage lasted?)
All this is a long way of saying that the pro life part of the forced birthers party line is one giant crock of shit. The question of when life starts may be fun to debate in a purely philosophical exercise, but it has nothing to do with the actual problem of women who are pregnant and don't want to be. The real debate is who controls your body? You, your nearest patriarchal overseer, the assholes in navy blue suits who vote for our laws? If you believe that you are the only person capable of making decisions about your own body, then you believe that everyone is capable of making decisions about their own body. If you believe that there is ever a time when someone else gets to make decisions about a body not their own (which is slavery), then you better be prepared to line up for mandatory blood donations. If you're okay with a little bit of slavery, it's best not to assume that you're going to be the slave owner.
But it's a pretty frame that forced pregnancy blowhards have been using for eons to justify controlling women's bodies. On the surface it SOUNDS good, like they are caring and really all about life and shit. But all you need is a teaspoon sized shovel to dig out their real aim- to punish the dirty whores for having sex by giving them mountains of unwanted bayyyyyyyyyyyyyyybieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees.
If they are all about preserving life, are they also anti-death penalty? (Sometimes, but not often)
Are they pacifists? Would they refuse to support any war? Or just the wars they don't like?
If they are all about preserving life, what about the life of the woman?
And if you bring up the "people are not life support machines" argument, they tell you that women choose to become life support machines when they have sex. But if that's true, what about fathers? Should both parents be legally required to donate blood or organs or tissues to their offspring? Should fathers who don't pay child support be charged with child abuse (thats 70% of all non-custodial parents, btw). Should men who smoke pot before sex be held liable if their sperm creates a disabled child? What if the man is old and his child ends up with schizophrenia? He knew he was an old dude when he was getting laid and that the chances of producing a mentally ill child were increased.
This is where the forced-birthers fall apart. Men aren't responsible for the gestation of children, ergo they cannot be used as life support machines. Anything they do with children is a CHOICE, even choosing not to pay child support won't hurt them much in the long run.
The thing is, if they really did want more babies to be born there are a gazillion programs that help do that. Universal healthcare and daycare are a start. Paid parental leave, flexible work schedules, better overall collection of child support or even the socialist idea proposed by Richard Nixon of mandatory minimum incomes so that financial devastation is no longer a side effect of an unplanned pregnancy would help. Eliminating the mommy tax (the giant wage gap between moms and EVERYBODY ELSE that works) would make it better too.
But those aren't programs that punish women for having sex (and generally they require some relinquishment of $ from dudes in the form of lower wages, higher taxes or child support payments). And these are people who see babies as punishment, god's great big scarlet letter for being a dirty whore. And without that, how would good men ever know which women to marry and which women to run off to Argentina with? And if a woman doesn't feel bad about having the dirty sex, then how will she ever lower herself enough to continue having the dirty sex with forced-birthers? (I actually knew a 48 year old grandmother who felt so bad about having premarital sex that she married the 20 year younger copy shop dude she was dating rather than continue to enjoy herself. Guess how long that marriage lasted?)
All this is a long way of saying that the pro life part of the forced birthers party line is one giant crock of shit. The question of when life starts may be fun to debate in a purely philosophical exercise, but it has nothing to do with the actual problem of women who are pregnant and don't want to be. The real debate is who controls your body? You, your nearest patriarchal overseer, the assholes in navy blue suits who vote for our laws? If you believe that you are the only person capable of making decisions about your own body, then you believe that everyone is capable of making decisions about their own body. If you believe that there is ever a time when someone else gets to make decisions about a body not their own (which is slavery), then you better be prepared to line up for mandatory blood donations. If you're okay with a little bit of slavery, it's best not to assume that you're going to be the slave owner.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
10 things about Chas
I woke up this morning and got hit in the face with grief. I think I'd been dreaming about him. I feel the need to share, which is odd. Despite my tendency for brutal honesty here, I don't ever like to let on that I'm hurt or upset in the meat world, even when I have perfectly good reasons for being both. Not too long ago there was a string of deaths, 6 people, and I couldn't go to the funeral of any of them. The Kid says I need to go to Chas' service, or he'll haunt me and I'll never deal with it (Kid is a smart one, I tell ya).
But since I know me, and I know that I am likely to clam up at the memorial service and start to feel all anxiety attack agoraphobic, and that in my head I will be feeling guilty for feeling sad when obviously there are people there (his wife and kids) who have more right to feel sad (I know- it's stupid- I'm not going to be able to break a lifetime of being told my feeling aren't important enough right now), here's what I want to say.
1. Chas is the reason the Kid had a Christmas this year. I spent Christmas week helping him get his house together (and keeping him from having psychotic breaks) and he made sure that the Kid had something to open, an mp3 player that hasn't left the Kid's ears for months.
2. Chas is the first person to ever pay for my writing. Granted- he had me write coffee porn (or coffee erotica) but it was a paying gig.
3. Chas and his darling wife Carolina nursed me through the worst break up in history with the worst boyfriend ever. Chas offered to perform numerous illegal acts of revenge for me, but I declined. Thing is- Chas would TOTALLY have done it if I asked. How many people do you know who are willing to commit illegal acts to make you feel better.
4. Chas hid his good chef's knives from his family, but he would pull them out and show them to me. They were glorious, and he was a hell of a cook.
5. Chas saved my broke ass on more than one occasion by offering me little jobs, hemming curtains or cleaning or writing. He bought my awesome digi cam off me a few years ago, and then gave it back to me at Christmas.
6. Chas once had me smuggle a lamb burger on an airplane for him.
7. Chas was my go to guy for "boyspeak to English" translations.
8. Chas was a bigger pack rat than anyone I have ever met. He makes my family look tidy. I helped him organize his basement and was under strict orders not to toss anything, including old zip ties and random candy wrappers.
9. No one on the planet can wear funky hats as well as Chas. No one. He wore a Captain's hat and navy blue blazer to one of my birthday parties and he was the bomb.
10. He was a much better friend to me than I have been to him. And I really wish I could make that up to him. I had a project that I wanted to do with him, that he would have loved and would have distracted him for a little bit. I meant to call him about it last week. But I put it off. I'm sorry Chas.
But since I know me, and I know that I am likely to clam up at the memorial service and start to feel all anxiety attack agoraphobic, and that in my head I will be feeling guilty for feeling sad when obviously there are people there (his wife and kids) who have more right to feel sad (I know- it's stupid- I'm not going to be able to break a lifetime of being told my feeling aren't important enough right now), here's what I want to say.
1. Chas is the reason the Kid had a Christmas this year. I spent Christmas week helping him get his house together (and keeping him from having psychotic breaks) and he made sure that the Kid had something to open, an mp3 player that hasn't left the Kid's ears for months.
2. Chas is the first person to ever pay for my writing. Granted- he had me write coffee porn (or coffee erotica) but it was a paying gig.
3. Chas and his darling wife Carolina nursed me through the worst break up in history with the worst boyfriend ever. Chas offered to perform numerous illegal acts of revenge for me, but I declined. Thing is- Chas would TOTALLY have done it if I asked. How many people do you know who are willing to commit illegal acts to make you feel better.
4. Chas hid his good chef's knives from his family, but he would pull them out and show them to me. They were glorious, and he was a hell of a cook.
5. Chas saved my broke ass on more than one occasion by offering me little jobs, hemming curtains or cleaning or writing. He bought my awesome digi cam off me a few years ago, and then gave it back to me at Christmas.
6. Chas once had me smuggle a lamb burger on an airplane for him.
7. Chas was my go to guy for "boyspeak to English" translations.
8. Chas was a bigger pack rat than anyone I have ever met. He makes my family look tidy. I helped him organize his basement and was under strict orders not to toss anything, including old zip ties and random candy wrappers.
9. No one on the planet can wear funky hats as well as Chas. No one. He wore a Captain's hat and navy blue blazer to one of my birthday parties and he was the bomb.
10. He was a much better friend to me than I have been to him. And I really wish I could make that up to him. I had a project that I wanted to do with him, that he would have loved and would have distracted him for a little bit. I meant to call him about it last week. But I put it off. I'm sorry Chas.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
A Dear Friend Lost
My phone rang today. I thought it was my dear friend, and answered with my usual greeting for him "What up G-Money!".
It wasn't him on the phone though. It was his wife, who sounded weary and sad. Before she said it, I knew that had killed himself.
Chas was a bright and shiny ball of energy when he was happy. But PTSD and other, never fully diagnosed, mental illness had crippled him for the last year or so. Last time I saw him he had elaborate plans for escaping the country. He was in so much pain that every thought was a torment. He loved his kids and his wife, and worried what his illness was doing to them.
Chas is the reason I started blogging a million years ago. He's responsible for this pile of digital words. We wanted to seceded from the Bushwhacked country. He was protective, like a big brother, when he was healthy. He had these little idiosyncratic insecurities that made him adorable, like a teddy bear that is missing its button eye (though the missing part was lower, and I've been told that since he kept it in a jar after surgery, it will be cremated with him).
Chas tried to get help through the system. The VA failed him. The only thing that calmed the constant anxiety was smoking pot, so the VA labeled him a drug addict. He was intensely pissed off that trying to make himself feel normal made him a criminal. Other drugs failed. Lithium failed. Multiple cocktails of pharmaceuticals just made him groggy and tired and sad. Therapists failed him. I failed him. I should have called. But I've been wrapped in my own cocoon of worry and fear.
I will miss you terribly Chasito. And so will everyone who ever met you and your gargantuan spirit.
It wasn't him on the phone though. It was his wife, who sounded weary and sad. Before she said it, I knew that had killed himself.
Chas was a bright and shiny ball of energy when he was happy. But PTSD and other, never fully diagnosed, mental illness had crippled him for the last year or so. Last time I saw him he had elaborate plans for escaping the country. He was in so much pain that every thought was a torment. He loved his kids and his wife, and worried what his illness was doing to them.
Chas is the reason I started blogging a million years ago. He's responsible for this pile of digital words. We wanted to seceded from the Bushwhacked country. He was protective, like a big brother, when he was healthy. He had these little idiosyncratic insecurities that made him adorable, like a teddy bear that is missing its button eye (though the missing part was lower, and I've been told that since he kept it in a jar after surgery, it will be cremated with him).
Chas tried to get help through the system. The VA failed him. The only thing that calmed the constant anxiety was smoking pot, so the VA labeled him a drug addict. He was intensely pissed off that trying to make himself feel normal made him a criminal. Other drugs failed. Lithium failed. Multiple cocktails of pharmaceuticals just made him groggy and tired and sad. Therapists failed him. I failed him. I should have called. But I've been wrapped in my own cocoon of worry and fear.
I will miss you terribly Chasito. And so will everyone who ever met you and your gargantuan spirit.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Dear France:
To Burqa or not to burqa is the wrong question, and outlawing one style of dress is oppressive, whether that style of dress is a mini skirt or a burqa.
If women were really equal everywhere, including France and the U.S., then there would be no push to outlaw a style of dress that many women CHOOSE to wear. By banning a style of clothing, you perpetuate the idea that women cannot decide for themselves even the most basic of things, like what to wear. It is just as bad to ban a burqa as it is to force women to wear one.
Women are not children who need protection from the big bad world. We are adult human beings who need to be treated as such and allowed to decide on the details of our own lives.
If women were really equal everywhere, including France and the U.S., then there would be no push to outlaw a style of dress that many women CHOOSE to wear. By banning a style of clothing, you perpetuate the idea that women cannot decide for themselves even the most basic of things, like what to wear. It is just as bad to ban a burqa as it is to force women to wear one.
Women are not children who need protection from the big bad world. We are adult human beings who need to be treated as such and allowed to decide on the details of our own lives.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Because i am an evil girl
A poster sized print of this is my wedding prezzie for Ruth & Bernard.
What is this? you are probably asking yourself.
It turns out that we live in at the nexus of yuppy hell, where seemingly unimportant things inspire both ire and gross revenge plans from neighbors.
That blue bag is a bag of dog shit hung on the car because it was parked slightly over the sidewalk (in our own driveway).
Peeps- I am used to the ghetto. I know what things will and won't get you hurt in an environment of the urban poor. Calling someone's mom a dirty name will get you hurt, parking badly will be ignored. These things make sense to me. I am having a very difficult time figuring out why someone would be soooooo pissed about having to take a half step to the side that they would need to leave animal excrement on the offending vehicle.
Opposite world
Renee at Womanist Musings (must remember to put her in the blog roll next time I retool) has a post up about the horrors of hymenoplasty and a woman who has it done EVERY YEAR so her husband keeps getting the "thrill" of fucking a virgin for his birthday.
(Yes, that made me throw up a little in my mouth just typing it)
That post and another I read the other day about mail order brides has got me thinking about women as the sex class, a concept that is difficult for a lot of people to grasp, even women, because we do so much more than spread our legs for the patriarchy.
One of the little mental exercises I use for figuring stuff out is to imagine the opposite of whatever I'm mulling over (I'll get to that part later). In this case, there was a line in the mail order bride story about how for many women their survival depends directly on being able to sexually satisfy a man. (I wish I could remember where I read it, I think it was the NYTimes, but fuck em, they get enough press already)
My brain took that one sentence and pushed it around for awhile. Sex workers, obviously, are women who rely on their ability to sexually satisfy a man for their survival. Traditional, stay at home wives too (if they slack off their husband can replace them with a younger version and they are financially devastated) which might explain little miss colluder's willingness to have her bits sewn shut once a year rather than having hubby run out and find an actual virgin to terrorize. But that's not where it ends. If we are to believe the evo-psych blowhards, then men are programmed to run around fucking everything with a hole. So why do we women have to spend so much time and energy on beauty products and clothing and maintenance in order to be fuckable? It doesn't make any sense to me.
So what's the opposite?
Imagine a world where a man's ability to sexually satisfy a woman directly correlated to his success. I know, that made you chuckle didn't it? Every single woman I know has at some point faked it with a dude, either to spare his feelings or to get it over with cause it was taking too long or whatever. Can you imagine a world where women's orgasm's weren't some mystical, mercurial thing but were as guaranteed as men's are now (I think this is entirely possible, btw. Just cause you don't know how to drive a stick shift doesn't mean that it can't be driven.)A world where penis enlargement is as common place as breast enlargement is now and every man in the country aspires to a perfect swimmers build through massive caloric restriction and grueling exercise regimes. A world where women catcall construction workers, men who are just trying to go about their work but instead become eyecandy (or fodder for ridicule) for lusty females. A world where men are warned about walking home alone at night or having a few too many drinks in a bar. Hell, we already make jokes about how if men got pregnant abortion would be available at drive-thrus, and how many crappy movies have been made about Mr. Moms taking care of the kids for comedic effect?
Yep- it sounds pretty ridiculous to me. So if it's opposite is ridiculous, then the current status quo is too. (Opposites is a fun game to play- imagine a world where ONLY gay people can get married or where Africa was the continent that white slaves were imported to. It's a really good tool for figuring out your own prejudicial hold backs).
So if women aren't the sex class, then there would be no need for all the little (and big) things we do every day to be attractive. Cosmo wouldn't keep running stupid articles about how to please your man in bed with a scrunchie to the nutsack. Women wouldn't risk toxic shock to have their bits waxed into virginal smoothness and the worst thing you could say about a women wouldn't have anything to do with how fuckable she is or isn't.
(Yes, that made me throw up a little in my mouth just typing it)
That post and another I read the other day about mail order brides has got me thinking about women as the sex class, a concept that is difficult for a lot of people to grasp, even women, because we do so much more than spread our legs for the patriarchy.
One of the little mental exercises I use for figuring stuff out is to imagine the opposite of whatever I'm mulling over (I'll get to that part later). In this case, there was a line in the mail order bride story about how for many women their survival depends directly on being able to sexually satisfy a man. (I wish I could remember where I read it, I think it was the NYTimes, but fuck em, they get enough press already)
My brain took that one sentence and pushed it around for awhile. Sex workers, obviously, are women who rely on their ability to sexually satisfy a man for their survival. Traditional, stay at home wives too (if they slack off their husband can replace them with a younger version and they are financially devastated) which might explain little miss colluder's willingness to have her bits sewn shut once a year rather than having hubby run out and find an actual virgin to terrorize. But that's not where it ends. If we are to believe the evo-psych blowhards, then men are programmed to run around fucking everything with a hole. So why do we women have to spend so much time and energy on beauty products and clothing and maintenance in order to be fuckable? It doesn't make any sense to me.
So what's the opposite?
Imagine a world where a man's ability to sexually satisfy a woman directly correlated to his success. I know, that made you chuckle didn't it? Every single woman I know has at some point faked it with a dude, either to spare his feelings or to get it over with cause it was taking too long or whatever. Can you imagine a world where women's orgasm's weren't some mystical, mercurial thing but were as guaranteed as men's are now (I think this is entirely possible, btw. Just cause you don't know how to drive a stick shift doesn't mean that it can't be driven.)A world where penis enlargement is as common place as breast enlargement is now and every man in the country aspires to a perfect swimmers build through massive caloric restriction and grueling exercise regimes. A world where women catcall construction workers, men who are just trying to go about their work but instead become eyecandy (or fodder for ridicule) for lusty females. A world where men are warned about walking home alone at night or having a few too many drinks in a bar. Hell, we already make jokes about how if men got pregnant abortion would be available at drive-thrus, and how many crappy movies have been made about Mr. Moms taking care of the kids for comedic effect?
Yep- it sounds pretty ridiculous to me. So if it's opposite is ridiculous, then the current status quo is too. (Opposites is a fun game to play- imagine a world where ONLY gay people can get married or where Africa was the continent that white slaves were imported to. It's a really good tool for figuring out your own prejudicial hold backs).
So if women aren't the sex class, then there would be no need for all the little (and big) things we do every day to be attractive. Cosmo wouldn't keep running stupid articles about how to please your man in bed with a scrunchie to the nutsack. Women wouldn't risk toxic shock to have their bits waxed into virginal smoothness and the worst thing you could say about a women wouldn't have anything to do with how fuckable she is or isn't.
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